The Warrior
by Twyk
Summary: The story of the life of Twyk Blackwind and his friends, adventuring to find the truth of his life.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

The man coughed and bubbling blood dripped from his mouth. His matted black hair clung to his face, and the light was fading from his eyes.  
What was his name again?  
He was dimly aware of fresh tears landing on his scarred face, and an Elfish voice screaming at him. Screaming his name. A pity his ears had already succumbed to whatever had happened to him, he couldnt even recall that.  
He heard the voice screaming at him again, this time accompanied with many more tears on his face.  
He opened his eyes and leant forward slightly gasping. The dying man tried to make sense of the swirl of colours that he could see, which accompanied the noise, alas, he couldn't see her face.  
He closed his eyes again, and breathed out. Opening his eyes again he managed a wry smile and chuckle, his damned eyes had stopped working.  
Blackness greeted his laugh, and seemed to laugh with the man.  
By the Light, he wished he could have done so much more with his life. But then he had done quite a lot, if he could only remember...  
Twyk!  
That was his name.  
And what did he do with his life?  
Remember, damn you, _remember_.  
Sighing, Twyk leant his head back and gave up.  
_So this is what death is like...

* * *

_

Alinna let out a scream of pure anguish, and collapsed on the dead Warrior's chest, sobbing and gasping for air. Her verdant green eyes were stained with unimaginable pain, and spasms racked her slight, purple body.  
The rest of the group, all bloodied and beaten, stood around the couple, some with stony faces, others with silent tears slowly running down their cheeks. Nira looked at his shoes, while Peej clenched his fist and shut his eyes tightly.  
Calama even let out a small sob, and her tears began anew.  
But all was drowned out by Alinna's pained wails.


	2. Through the Dark Portal

**Through the Dark Portal**

The skies were weeping, echoing the sentiment of the people on that dark day.  
All around the Portal, men were hugging their sobbing wives, and embracing their children, whispering their promises to return one day.  
There was one man however, who did not see any relatives, he wasn't sure if he even had any.  
This man's name was Twyk.

Twyk was tall for a Human, nearly as tall as a Night Elf and broad shoulders. With black hair that swept down to the small of his back, and green eyes, one minute bright, and the next minute cold and distant. Some might have called him handsome, if not for the scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye down to the edge of his face. He was a young soldier, only having 27 years to him, but he had seen things that would rack the nerves of any man twice his age.

You see Twyk was one of the only Humans of the great land of Lordaeron left. The land that was ruined and utterly destroyed by hordes of Ghouls and other Undead.

He sighed, and gazed out upon the crowds of milling soldiers, and he felt a great pain. Not at the fact that he had none of his own people to bid farewell to, he had come to terms with that long ago, but the fact that despite their loving promises to confused children and teary eyed wives, not many would return to Azeroth. They were just another load of soldiers, not nearly as ready for the horrors of Outland as they thought themselves as. Nor was he, coming to think of it.

Crouching, he pulled his shortswords from their scabbards on his back. The one in his right hand was a sword made by the great Hanzo, an ancient swordsmith who died long ago in the smoky tendrils of the past. His other sword was slightly shorter and jagged, with blood red troll runes on either side. They spelt out 'Firebreather', a legendary sword that was given to him by a Mage, claiming that it was from the belly of a Drake of the Green Dragonflight, named Morphaz. Twyk was not sure he believed this, but he liked the design on the sword and kept it close at all times.

He danced the blades for a while, something he figured that he didn't do enough these days, and attracted a small crowd of admiring onlookers. He smiled, _They don't know that they're witnessing a dance not seen in a hundred years or so_, he thought dryly, and finished. Resheathing his swords, he turned to face in the direction of the Portal; the green starry void staring back at him, almost challengingly.

Twyk gasped as two slender hands covered his eyes, and he heard a female voice say,  
"Guess who?"

"Hmm.. I'd have to say.. Calama!" He said, laughing as he pulled the deep red haired High Elf woman round to his front.

Sun tanned skin, with bright blue eyes marked her different from her Horde cousins, in that she wasn't addicted to Fel magics. She wasnt even a magic wielder; she was a Huntress. Twyk was genuinely surprised to see her, he hadn't done so in 5 or there abouts years.

"I haven't seen you in ages, Twyk," Calama breathed, "Not since we got sent to 'sort out' that Stalvan.."

_Stalvan. _  
The name ran through Twyk's head like water down a stream.  
He remembered that.. thing, a monster, killing all who came close because of his lost love, eventually succumbing to madness.  
He also remembered how that creature's Undead eyes widened in stark terror, as Twyk's sword was plunged to the hilt in it's chest. A very human terror.

_Undead._  
Like his family.

"Twyk? Twyk?" Calama said, her face close to his, she was staring into his eyes. They were bleak and almost dead looking, like rotting foliage. As Twyk flinched, she gave him a sympathetic look, "The Plague again?"

He nodded shortly and she embraced him, a sister's hug, and it comforted him somewhat.

"I... I'm sorry Calama," Twyk began, his deep baritone sounding pained, "Reunions like this shouldn't be ruined by memories of the past..." He sighed, and looked up suddenly, his eyes back to their usual brightness, glinting emeralds once more, "How have you been?"

"As well as to be expected I guess, times have been hard since most of my brethren joined the Horde," Calama said, a slight edge in her voice, "I mean.. The thought of _Trolls_ in Silvermoon... It just goes against all that we Elves have strived to accomplish in our time here. Anyway, where have you been, young man?"

That made Twyk smile. Calama may have looked Twyk's age - or even younger! - but she was at least 130; long lived were the elves. She had been there, in Quel'Thalas as the Undead Scourge destroyed her country around her, killing her friends and family. Twyk felt a kindred spirit in her, almost like a sister. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that, most Quel'dorei, or Sin'Dorei as he should now call them, had figures of exaggerated perfection, but even she was remarkable among Elves.

"Travelling. When my old master died, he told me to seek another to teach me the blades, yet I haven't found that man yet, however hard I search." Twyk said simply. Calama's eyes widened in realisation.

"You're going to find him in Outland?" She asked, confused, to which he nodded, "Why would he be in Outland? Everyone that was left from the Second War is old now, the wouldnt be able to teach you."

Twyk looked toward the portal, the rippling green vortex reflecting in his determined eyes, "I will find him there Calama. You're forgetting that Master Shin was 80 when he was killed, and taught me the swords till the day he died." Twyk then gave her one of his wry grins, "And plus, I hear there are Orcs called 'Blademasters' there... I intend to put that name thoroughly to the test."

Calama nodded slowly, resolve gradually building and spoke, "Well, if you're going to Outland, I'm coming too. It's not things like kobolds there, my friend."

Twyks head snapped round to hers, and he spoke firmly, "No, this will be a long and dangerous journey, and I would hate myself if something happened to you."  
_Hate myself more_, he thought, grimly.

"Too bad, _boy_," Calama said adamantly, "I _am _coming, and for my own reasons."

Twyk scowled and turned to face the suddenly silent crowd of people. An Alliance General was currently giving an 'inspirational' speech the the soldiers, and he knew that he had to leave soon, so he had to come to a decision quickly. Calama looked at him expectantly, the faintest twinkle of defiance in her deep blue eyes.

Twyk knew better than to argue, and it wouldn't be that bad having a companion. Even if she did get under his skin occasionally. Sighing, he said,  
"Fine. You watch my back I watch yours." He slit his palm with his belt knife, and she did the same, smiling. They clasped hands and both turned to the Portal.

"ALL IN!" A voice bellowed, and Calama looked to Twyk. Now that the time was near, fear rippled through him, and he could see by her face that she was feeling the same. What horrors awaited them there? Would they return? Would she die for him? Pushing these thoughts firmly to the back of his mind, he turned to face her.

"Ready to step into the unknown?" She asked, her voice serious.

"No. But then I'd need years to become fully ready. Now is the time." Twyk said, his voice just as serious.

They walked silently until they were just infront of the great swirling maelstrom that would take them to a broken, hollow shell of a world. He gripped her hand, and she his. She was shivering with fear, and he must be doing the same. With one last reassuring look to his companion, he took a step forward just as she did.

Everything faded to black...


	3. Bloodlust

**Bloodlust **

The beast struck!

Morgran dived out of the way onto the marshy land, his eyes never leaving the beast that attacked him. The dim glow of the marsh cast everything into eternal blue twilight. The giant wasp made a low buzzing sound as it turned to face him. Rearing up, it struck again before Morgran could move, this time making a gash in into thick arm.

Black blood oozed onto green skin as the Orc stood up, sighing. He found it hard to stand, dead wasps lay all around him, and various cuts and rips marked his skin. Some not so deep, and others were. The blood quickly started glowing as a side effect of the beasts poison.

Clutching his side, the Orc swayed unsteadily. Blood trickled through his fingers from a previous wound, which must have been worsened by the fall, and he grunted in pain.

_What a battle, _Morgram thought, smiling and looking at the littered dead. He quickly schooled his expression and glanced up at his enemy.

Face looking apologetic, the green figure spoke to the huge insect,  
"Sorry for having to do this," he said, his low voice strained, "But you leave me no choice, noble beast."

Brushing his shaggy deep purple hair out of his face with one hand, and clenching his other into a fist against his skin, he beckoned to the elements.  
_Fire, _he called out to the land with his mind, _I humbly ask of you to aid me in defeating this beast. _

Silence ran through the vaults of Morgran's mind.

Eyes widened, and mouth hanging open, the Orc stared around wildly. Why hadn't Fire responded? He tried again, a bit hastily.  
_Please Fire! _he thought, _I beseech you to give me the power to end this beast's life. _

Nothing but silence again, until Fire spoke.

_**No. Came Fire's voice,**_ harsh and slow, _**You don't truly understand your power as a Shaman, young one. **_

If Morgram's face looked shocked before, what it what was now was incredulous. He felt something Orcs felt only at a few points in their life - fear.

The wasp reared up slowly.

_Please! _he called, frenzied, _I do not understand! _

_**That is why I will not lend you the power of my Element. Goodbye, do not call me or my fellow Elements until you are ready. **_Came the reply. It hit Morgram like a 10 tonne hammer.

A sudden movement caught Morgram by surprise and a 3 foot long stinger now protruded out of his chest. The wasp hovered there, seeming to laugh. Seeming to laugh _at him. _

Fear was replaced by a new emotion.

Rage.

The red of the Orcs eyes glowed as he slowly and deliberately gripped the stinger and unsheathed it from him. With a roar that was more animal than anything else, he crushed the stinger with one hand and ripped it out.

Buzzing high pitched with pain, the wasp tried to escape, but Morgram was having none of it. Grabbing his axe, he spun, screaming, and cleaved the wretched creature in two.

Its blood sprayed into the air, and with another bestial roar, Morgram actually danced in it.

He stopped, the fire seeping out of his eyes, and looked in horror at his body. Covered in blood.

He was truly an animal, a demon spawned wretch, just as the Alliance called his race.

All of a sudden, Morgram felt very dizzy, and swirling colours in his head made him vomit all over himself. With a low moan, he fell backwards, mud squelching as he collided with the ground. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back.

_I am more than that. I will not lose control ever again, _he thought, but doubt plagued his mind. Not caring about where he was, he closed his eyes and slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

Zereil walked slowly through the seemingly tranquil swamp of Zangarmarsh, hammer held high. His tail still ached from riding his Elekk all the way to Telredor from Honor Hold, but he ignored it.

He was awed, travelling through a forest, once inhabited by his Draenei ancestors.  
Inhabited until the Orcs slaughtered nearly the whole of the race, of course.

But a remnant of a remnant survived!

Zereilous, son of Oranous, was home. But this shattered land held but a fraction of the beauty described by his people, now.  
_No matter, _he decided in his mind, still walking.

Hours passed, but Zereil was still fascinated by the many flora and fauna of this land.

He crested a low hill, and as he trotted down, cautiously, he saw a shape lying in the mud. Investigating further, he stepped off the path and onto the muddy turqoise grass. He gasped, stunned, as he reached the shape on the floor, surrounded by dead.. things that resembled wasps. Only 6 foot long.

Green skin, wild hair, teeth protruding from it's bottom jaw.

An Orc.

For a shocked instant, he studied the helpless creature. Thick arms - thicker than his own - were part of a human sized body. Zareil was glad to know that he could overpower it, should it awake and attack.

As if reading his mind, the Orc's eyes shot upon, blood red irises framing unfocused pupils. It thrashed wildly for a few seconds, then it's eyes focused and darted around. Upon noticing the Draenei, the Orc's face twisted into hateful fear.

Fear? From an Orc?

Thats when Zereil noticed the huge wounds that scored the creatures body. Its a wonder that it had even survived such an attack, and from so many enemies.

Drawing in the Holy Light, he soothed the silent Orc with its power, sending it back to sleep. The Light taught equality to all races, even Orcs. With the face of someone doing something they know is right, but not necessarily liking it, Zereil lifted the creature onto his back and started walking back to the path, looking for an adequate site to pitch his tent.


	4. Dreams

**Dreams **

_A scream.  
A woman's scream.  
A shrill woman's scream that was cut off shortly by a sickening crunch and liquid sound. _

It tore through the void of his shattered mind and sent rivers of pain flowing to all parts of his body.

Twyk stared around, wild eyed, at his room in Andorhal. It was dark outisde, and only the guttering flame of a candle lit the room. The shadows it made were twisted demons. Tears stung at his eyes and he darted towards a mirror. He nearly tripped on the dark floorboards, and then he realised that his foot bled too.

As the man looked into the mirror, a 12 year old by stared back, rugged and dirty, hair loose and matted with sweat and blood. A great welt could be seen on the side of his head. Thats right, they only knocked him out... No doubt saving him for later.

Right now he had to focus on what was important. The moaning ghouls downstairs bayed hungrily, their feral undead instincts demanding more flesh. He shivered at the thought of the grisly scene downstairs, and his heart ached for everyone lost.

Another scream ending sharply - his father. He had gone down fighting as hard as his mother did to protect him. A strange sense of pride settled on him, bittersweet. They gave their lives protecting him and his sis- thats when his blood ran cold!

"TWYK! HELP ME!" Came a terrified and muffled cry.

His head shot up and his heart skipped a beat.

Emelia! No! They couldnt get his little sister, she was told to stay in the basement!

Thats when the most horrifying sound he had ever heard -or ever will hear- ripped through the vaults of his blood-drenched mind, and he let out a broken howl of anguish. His soul seared with pain, and his mind shattered as the last coherent thoughts fled from it.

That horrible, blood curdling little girl's wail of pure pain. The nightmarish pits of his heart exploded in white hot agony, as his rage climaxed.

Run.

SAVE HER.

Must run. Can't do anything.

Taking one teary eyed look back at his door, and the disgusting sounds coming from downstairs, he headed towards the window. When he got there, he opened it and smelled the stench of death, that stench was never going to be forgotten.

His senses seemed to be on fire, he could detect minute details in everything. The putrid stench of undead, the smoky air outside, the sound of ghoul's eating his fellow townspeople. And his family. He uttered a silent prayer to the Light for his family, which he knew would never be answered as long as this putrid hate seeped from his innermost core.

Getting his leg over the splintered wooden form, he let himself drop into his moonlit garden, and thought fled.

Through the dim recesses of his consciousness, he could make out hideous sounds and smells. Shapes too deformed to be alive shambled across his blackened visison, trees too hellish to envision too. If he could think, he would have been scared.

But thought had fled.

All that was left was instinct.  


* * *

Twyk awoke with a gasp, sweat drenched his forehead and ran down his face. The smell of the marsh was strong in his tent, perhaps even stroger than outside in the great Zangarmarsh itself. As he looked around his surroundings, he let out a breath. That dream was nothing new, but never had it been so vivid. So _real_.

He could remember the feel of the corpse-town, and the terrifying ghouls that had haunted his mind in dim memory now glared at him with eyes made of purest hate. He could also remember something that his very being shrieked at him to forget.

That sound.

_Emelia..._ he thought, as tears welled up in his eyes. She was not even seven, and she was taken by those damned hordes of flesh eating monsters. His golden haired little sister. Not a day went by where he didnt mourn the fact that he didn't go back to save her, or at least see what happened to his parents.

But deep in his heart he knew. _They are undead._

His eyes immediately turned from teary leaf green to hard emerald, their hardness reflecting the fire that raged in his soul. He bellowed something incomprehensible and punched the adamantite bound chest that lay next to him.

Suddenly Calama was in the way of the tent flap, wearing only her shift and underclothes. As he looked up to her, the fire extinguished in his heart. Her sad eyes said it all.

"Twyk.. You were shouting in your sleep again, and.. Crying too, Twyk. Such sad wails," She told him, sympathetically. She leaned forward and embraced him, he hugged back, and was surprised to find himself sobbing into her shoulder.

"Emelia.." he wailed, his sobs getting stronger, "I tried to save her, believe me Calama! I did!"

"Alright, I believe you." She said softly, "...But who is Emelia?" The Elf asked quietly. She knew he had suffered at the hands of the Plague before, but never had he gone into any detail.

"My sister," he whispered, "I was not even 13, I couldn't stand up to them! I couldn't!" His sobs stopped abruptly and his breath was ragged. He was slowly getting angry again, "Or could I?!"

"Shhh," She soothed him, "Whatever happened, you couldn't have done anything. Now try to get some sleep, I'll be out hunting for food. If anything can pass for decent food out in this Light forsaken marsh." She uwrapped herself from him and stroked his hair, "I'll be here for you, I'm your sister now. Got it? And if any Scourge tries to get me, I'll be responsible for myself."

Twyk nodded weakly, and looked up to her in gratitude. She would be a good sister, and he would protect her, no matter what she said.

"A woman shouldnt see a man like this, I apologize, Calama." He said firmly, obviously regaining his composure. He wiped his tear stained cheeks and put his head on the pillow.

"Back to normal already," Calama told him, reassuringly and slowly exited the tent.

Twyk lay there staring into the darkness for hours, until the sun finally rose. One day he would get his vengeance. Vengeance against the foul Lord of the Undead, who sits high upon his icy throne. Not knowing that one day, Twyk Blackwind will come and slay him. And when he is slain, then can Twyk rest.

One day, Twyk can rest.


	5. Poisons

**Poisons **

Blue light filtered in through the small tent's thin fabric, as it always did, and as Twyk looked at the dazzling caricatures that the light made on the floor next to where his head lay, he wondered what material the tent was made of. It might seem like a stupid question, but twyk was that sort of man. He remembered buying it off of a Gnome while he was staying in Ironforge 5 years ago, about to get shipped off to his next post in the army. The Gnome claimed it was 'waterproof', whatever that meant. But it did keep the rain off.

His master had been in failing health even then, and he constantly berated himself for how few visits he made. Maybe he should have found a cure.

No, now wasn't the time to be worrying about his long list of insecurites. Grinning, Twyk sat up and stretched his muscled arms.

Leaning back with his palms flat on the strange tent material, he surveyed his tent more completely, and memories of his late night... experience came to him. His grin grew more, partly because he must have looked stupid, but mostly because he'd actually told someone of his past. He'd confronted that which gnawed away at him like a demon to a sinner's skull. Embarrasing himself, he also remembered that he embraced his new 'sister' while she was only in her underclothes. He even laughed, and realised how much of a lecher he was being.

Slipping on a vest of chainmail over his stylish black shirt, and grabbing his blades, he put his head through the entrance to his tent. Well, he said entrance, it was more a case of one side only being attached at the top and having to be pegged down at the bottom. Calama sat there over the fire, no doubt cooking breakfast, and snapped her head round to look at him, her big blue eyes brightening. The smell of Zangarmarsh was awful, but since he had been here a week now, he could feel that he was getting used to it.

One thing he couldnt get used to was the bizzare scenery; giant turquoise mushrooms towered to the left and right, all over! The sky was blackened by them, and the only light came from the glowing blue fungi that literally covered most plants, and floated heedlessly in the sludgy water that covered most of the marsh. Not for the first time he cursed the opressive dark light under his breath.

"Don't use such language," Calama chuckled, "I'm a _lady_, remember?"

She has good hearing, Twyk thought, climbing out from under his tent. He yawned and strode over to the small fire, which Calama was now feeding with small mushrooms. The screeching sounds of animals dying, being born, hunting, mating and anything else, that never seemed to cease, filled the air. It grated Twyks nerves almost as much as the stench. He could feel a spark of anger in his gut, but only that; a spark.

"So what's for breakfast? Assuming you were succesful in your hunt yesterday, Calama?" He asked, a tad sarcastically. She merely gave him a flat stare and gestured to a pile of nondescript meat that lay on a wooden board next to her.

"Guess. And it's not chicken." She replied, lazily.

Twyk opened his mouth and she cut him off, "Not cow, pig, rabbit, snake, boar or anything else from Azeroth, either." She actually managed to keep that uninterested expression, and hold it perfectly.

"Uhh..." Twyk sighed, puzzled, "Ogre?" They both laughed at that. After they'd both finished wiping their eyes from tears of laughter, Calama explained.

"No it's-" She started and cut off abruptly, cocking her head to one side, her wintery eyes instantly alert. Twyk knew that look.

She'd heard something coming closer to the camp. And since most of the animals hovered out of necessity in the marsh, it was likely to be trouble.

Before Twyk even got one of his blades unsheathed, Calama had her varnished oak bow ready and arrow knocked. _She's fast, faster than I remember,_ Twyk's voice ran through the heated silence of his focused mind. Upon noticing his admiring look, he laughed and told him that she'd been practicing. He forced a strange grunt of a laugh, and realised that every muscle in his body was tensed.

Not even able to give a shout of warning, he fell to the ground - and that's when he first noticed the dart that stuck from his neck. Everything ached to move, but was inable; stunned. He couldn't even move his eyes. His hearing was gone, only silence reigned supreme, and his smell seemed to have vanished. Strange that he could still see, and see well! He could pick out individual blades of grass in the mud in which he fell. He might aswell make the most of this Light-blessed sense.

He simply stared in the direction he fell, and saw Calama frantically talking to him, her features concerned. With his heightened vision, he could have picked out each individual blemish or imperfection on the Elf's face - if she actually had any. Then suddenly, 3 disgusting creatures were on her, stabbing wildly with daggers and attempting to hack her with cruel bladed axes. The form they used was erratic, and they missed many more times than hit.

The creatures' skin was a dank blue-grey colour, and they were maybe 4 feet tall. Hoods covered stunted heads, and their stocky bodies looked diseased and frail. They wrestled Calama with remarkable strength though.

At this point Twyk realised how relaxed he was. Even though his mind should have been frozen with blind rage, and his eyes should have been burning with vengeful fire, he acknowledged everything that was happening. A side effect of the poison, he expected. Come to think of it, he never felt a dart. What strange and marvellous creatures these were.

Two of the demented things had Calama pinned to the floor now, and she must have been screaming, judging by the expression on her pale face. Where was the third? A faint feeling to the back of his head made him realise that it was behind him now, doing something to him.

Thats when he saw the blood trickle past his eyes, and his hearing came back. His vision returned to normal, and he was almost regretful of that. Calama's howl was ear shattering, -she was affected by the same poison it seemed. The bastards coated their weapons, he would kill them for hurting her, but he still couldnt move his limbs! With a muttered curse, it dawned on him that he could speak, but still not move. At least he could talk now. The creatures were going through the tents, laughing and talking in a harsh language that seemed too confusing to imagine.

"Calm down, Calamaaaargh!" The sense of touch was evidently back, and so was his rage. Light! He hurt all over! He jumped up and gave a bestial roar, "FOR ARATHI!" He bellowed, and winced in pain.

The back of his head felt as if he had an axe lodged in it, and feeling the back of his head, he realised that he had! He gribbed the crude handle and ripped the weapon from his skull, managing to make himself collapse in the process. Blood fountained from his head as he fell, and all of his body fibres were punishing him with extreme amounts of pain. His mind screamed at him for being such a fool, and sthe sticky

The last he saw was an ugly pockmarked fist closing in on his face.

* * *

Alinna darted gracefully through the dense underbrush of the vast Zangarmarsh, and her feline senses delighted her with the new sounds and smells of a different world. Her love for nature was like a gigantic tree, and right now in her mind, it blossomed brilliant white-pink blossoms. Pausing to look at a particularly beautiful flower, she pressed her soft nose against it and breathed in - the sense of smell as a panther was indescribable!

She quickly scampered in the direction she had been going before, pausing occasionally to admire this rich land's wonders. The eternal blue twilight reminded her of her own beautiful home in Ashenvale Forest, far away on Azeroth. Her tail accidently bruhed over a small rodent and it hurried off, and Alinna creased her face in the feline imitation of a laugh. Life was wonderful as a Druid of the Expedition, and she was content.

But then, her panther ears picked up a sound - speech! But it was no language she knew. Cautiously dropping to her belly, she stalked in the direction that the sound had come from, having no time to marvel at all the rich plant and animal life around her. She regretted that, but this was important!

A shrill earslaughtering scream now came from somewhere past the bushes infront of her, and she changed back to her true Night Elf form out of pure shock. The fluidity of changing was quickened, and it even hurt slightly. Cursing herself for losing control of her senses, she brushed some of the dirt off of her arm. Alinna Valeron stood up and stretched - she had spent too much time in her feline form and now she was paying for it. She was mildly surprised that the scream was as loud in this form as it was as a cat. She had forgotten how well she got hear naturally it seemed.

Stepping slowly forward so she could see through the bushes, she melded with the shadows and nearly gasped at the scene infront of her. A tall human - a head taller than her! - and what looked like a... Highborne, were on the floor! The Human lay in a pool of blood, his head split quite badly at the crown. The Highborne Elf seemed unable to move, and all she could do was scream in that heart-rending tone. The Azerothian's tents were being ravaged by three sickly-looking Lost Ones - deranged cousins of the noble Draenei.

Sighing quietly, she devised a plan in her head - she had to save the Human... And the Highborne too, she guessed.

* * *

Calama screamed, though she didn't know why anymore. Ah yes, the toxin! Those foul creatures! When she broke free of this malady she would... She would... What was she going to do again? The toxin! How she hated Rogues and their incessant use of poisons. She felt so weak, and so tired. Blood was gushing from numerous wounds, but they felt distant, detached. Thank the Light for that small mercy!

But still she screamed.

Elves had a much weaker constitution than Humans did, and Calama was slowly losing her iron will and stubbornness to survive. All she could do was scream and pray to the Light that somehow, someway, she'd be saved. Twyk looked hurt, and the blood looked strangely beautiful against the dark ground. She could lose herself in that unending sea of crimson, with it's flowing waters and deep colour.

She realised that her eyes were closing and virtually ripped them open at the sound of a deep growling. This growl turned into a roar quickly, and it seemed as if a giant.. bear was rushing past her!

Bears? In the Zangarmarsh?! Impossible! And anyway, if it ate the little daemon-kin or whatever they were, it'd surely eat two unconscious humanoids!

But some sick, strange sense of hope welled up inside her body like pus dripping from her insides. Before she knew what was going on, she stopped screaming and vomited onto the dark, soft mud infront of her. Powerfully.

_Light, Bear, please save us,_ she implored silently in her head, and drifted off into a deep hate-dream, filled with bears and Rogues and an unending ocean of blood.

* * *

Twyk awoke to a concerned, and strikingly beautiful pale purple face over his. Still feeling groggy, he could make out it's eyes, whatever it was. He could have sworn on the Light that he recognized this exotic, beautiful creature. It's eyes were deep green like his, and they were very big against that perfect face. It must've seen him awake and jerked back unexpectedly. It turned away and began mixing something. Beside him was Calama, sleeping. Apart from a few scratches, she seemed perfectly well. But he remembered those evil things hacking at her and stabbing her.

Twyk sat up and the back of his head burned with black agony. He wasn't lying in the mud, he realized, but a blanket spread out on the grassy plant that covered most of the marsh. He could have stabbed himself for being so stupid and pulling that accursed axe out! Strangely, the pain went away very quickly, and tentatively, he felt where the wound was.

Where the wound should have been.

He felt his hair there now, greasy and slick with blood. He gasped in astonishment and turned to face the creature that had Healed him. It looked at him, beaming at his apparent recovery. He was sure he'd seen it's like somewhere before. He couldn't see the creatures that had attacked them, but that was the last thing on his mind.

"Sorry, I couldn't clean your head up, Human, but the water here might have affected things," The creature said, in a melodius, rich voice. Twyk snapped out of his momentary brooding and his head instantly cleared. Now he realised why he recognized that creature!

"You're... a Night Elf!" He said, slowly. He'd met quite a few, but it had been a while, and he still felt quite confused. And most of what he could concentrate on was how she could have Healed his head. She certainly didn't look like any Night Elf Priestess of which he knew, and he knew a few. She had a long robe on, much like a priests, but instead of the white that they wore, this was a dark purple colour, the green leaves stiched into it. The Elf laughed, and gave him one of his mugs with a sweet smelling liquid in it.

"I am indeed, Human, and my name is Alinna. What is yours? And your friends?" Asked that wonderful, musical voice. He smiled at hearing it, but he wasn't quite sure why.

"I'm Twyk," He began, "And that's Calama," he said, pointing to his apparently sleeping friend, "If you don't mind me saying so, how did you exactly Heal us? You certainly don't look like a priestess... More of a.. More of a.." Realization hit Twyk like the Deeprun Tram into a bunch of Deeprun rats.

"More of a?" Alinna asked, with a knowing smile.

"A..." Twyk began, in awe, "Druid?

"Correct, I'm one of the first female Druids, nice to meet you!" She laughed, happily. She made as if to shake his hand, but Twyk's eyes widened and he just sat staring at her slim hand.


End file.
